A Scar, a Coat, and a Soul
by itsadreamanditsabitofadance
Summary: Three things Spike picked up from each of the Slayers, and how they make him who he is.
1. A Scar

It's dark.

Of course it is; Spike is a vampire. But he's in a burning town now, a town flickering out with a final shower of sparks, a firework swooping in and crackling before it extinguishes itself with a cry of relief.

It should be everything he hates, but for Drusilla he will revel in it.

It's dark.

The light flickers at the periphery of his vision; he stares blankly upwards, processing a life in which he fears the fire that once warmed him and welcomes the embrace of the darkness so richly feared in his native town. He contemplates his very existence-how he both owes this one to Drusilla and yet would not be dead without her. He needs to ground her, his saviour, so he is not lost. That is all he knows of this. Bind her to him, revel like his subconscious fights against his demon to stop him from doing...

What he needs is a sign. To show her who he is. That he is her man, vampire, whatever he is. He needs to find someone to enjoy the fight with him. Make him a proper...man. For her.

And that, after all, is why they are here.

He lowers his head to look along the street where a girl is doing her very best to subdue rioters non-lethally. He is impressed with her skill, and his demon roars to fight her. To make her abandon her noble post and let the destruction rain down around her body. For Drusilla, he once again embraces this side of him. He prowls towards the girl, _the slayer,_ and leaps into battle with her.

Spike isn't entirely sure how it happens-he thinks they took out a few civilians and to protect them she may have gradually enticed him into a burning temple (clever of her, fire being one of his nemeses) yet here they are, duking it out sacrilegiously in a place of worship as her world burns around her. He knows, of course he does, that this must be painful for her, yet he knows too, that just like him, there is some part of her that enjoys this dance they are creating. They are not so different, he and she, an ulterior motive siphoning away the rawness of the fight. She to save her town, and he has to impress his girl. But it is at this moment that he truly understands the similarity of slayer and vampire, the transience of their differences-it is, simply, a goal and how they got their matching powers that separates them. They enjoy the fight, both do, but they do it with a heavier heart.

It is also at this moment that she slashes his face.

The blade runs through his skin, splicing it like an experiment. Angelus used to do that to him frequently. Angelus would not be musing on the poetic comparison of slayer and vampire. Angelus would be musing on how best to kill the girl.

Perhaps, those differences he was wondering about do not apply to every vampire. He has spent the whole evening pondering his state, his mind, and his position in (un)life and the contradiction between his soulfulness and his wild, wild demon. He, he realises, is an anomaly among vampires, and this slayer-given mark immortalises this.

But is this a bad thing? Can he not embrace it, he thinks as he unceremoniously finishes off the fight and waves of grief for the beauty of what they just created overcomes him. This inherent discord could enrich him. _This_ , he triumphantly decides, _is who I am. For Drusilla, but also for me, and this girl. I am Spike, and I carry this scar with me as a symbol of my slayer-born power. Also, I'm pretty fucking fantastic right now,_ and he turns to kiss his girl.


	2. A Coat

It's dark.

He lingers there, by the track, leaning against a pillar, enjoying night's cool clothing, and shrugs it off to go and meet the slayer.

Spike steps out into the fluorescent lighting and sees her there, looking all sorts of hot and powerful. The fight begins with not so much as a word, a message being transmitted between the two of them as they begin their dance. He's watched her before-she's damn good, innovative, resourceful, and with a young son...

It's the son he thinks about briefly before he is swallowed into the abandoned subway car and the bloodthirsty, exhilarating fight. The son-is he reason enough for her to live? Or is she so damn tired he can take her right now? That poor kid, a fusion of the slayer's dedication and the endless optimistic slavery of humanity. He might just lose his mother tonight to an equal adversary.

Punches are traded...it's better than the last time he fought a slayer. This is beautiful, this, this is a vindication of the acceptance of his passion that has caused him so much trouble with Darla and the like. Here, in a grimy, yellow car rumbling uncertainly along the rails, he reaches a moment of clarity so perfect he roars. His poetry intertwines with the snarls of the demon inside, and the fight is evenly matched in this second, a complex mesh of give and take...

This fight is so...William in its beauty. It's so...Spike in its enjoyment. And it's so Nikki in the way that they dance around, with, and to each other.

When it's done, he respects her so much he doesn't even drink her blood. He leaves her, regretting his actions because of the boy-although only a little, he swears, Dru, he swears...

But he takes her coat, slipping it on in another layer of acceptance of his character, and his destiny to be entangled with slayers. Forever.


	3. A Soul

It's dark.

It wasn't meant to be like this. He was only meant to twin with the slayers, orbit them, come into a staggering eclipse of moon and sun once in a while.

 _He wasn't meant to fall in_ love _with one..._

He kicks off from the road, the motorway ripping away behind him as he drops his cigarette. The bike eats up the distance to the border. He intends to get to Panama and take a boat to Africa, and get to Nigeria. He _needs_ that soul. He has to get it.

He supposes it was inevitable really. His sense of always being locked into a constant fascination with slayers was always going to manifest itself as lust, then love.

Not what he just did though. He accepted the demon, it was his fault, and he let the demon out. Now he has to atone. He knows this. He feels regret as if he had a soul right now. But he doesn't, and he really _needs_ it.

This eternal dance with the slayers, of violence, true, but also his mental dabbling in their similarities...it was bound to end up like this. He knows himself, knows the hedonist romantic that can both pair with the demon and roil away from it. He knows that he loves her, this slayer who captured him. And he knows that what he did must be fixed if this journey kills him-which it probably will. This entanglement was headed this way; this was always the ultimate moment in completing this journey he has been on for so long.

When he gets the soul, his first thought is not one of regret. When he gets the soul, his first thought is one of relief, of reconciliation, of _understanding_. He knows who he is now. He is a man. Different to William, different to Spike, but a _man._ This is where his innate contradictions come to rest. This is where they coincide.

He is William the Bloody, and...

Oh God. He feels so guilty.


End file.
